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The Unsub Got Sloppy

Rarely in my life have I ever been subjected to such dedication and commitment as the Mad Crapper has demonstrated for the past eight months. He’s a marvel - I can’t even get my newspaper delivered on a daily basis, yet the Mad Crapper, on a daily basis litters my property.

Now, that’s impressive.

The poor man suffered through inclement weather: snow storms, ice storms, hail and rain just to pitch garbage. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was an old school postal carrier.

No one no how no where would ever be so obsessed about me and determined to prove a point as the Mad Crapper. He has me on his mind all the time whereas I only think of him when I kick his garbage out of the way, all of two seconds.

He upgraded his game from plain styrofoam coffee cups to include for variety sake paper coffee cups and lids and tissues as well as boxes full of styrofoam pellets.

As a nuisance to others, he was quite effective. The police came over several times as garbage blew around the street onto lawns, cluttering the road and ditches. And the Town had a crew come over twice to clean up the garbage only to have the Mad Crapper soil it again the following day.

I had my suspicions as to who it was. Without spending coin to put a remote camera in the trees or waste the day playing Nancy Drew, I had no alternative, but to create a profile a la Criminal Minds. Mind you, it didn’t matter if I was gone five minutes or two days; he watched every move I made and sped over to dump shit here the moment my roadster left the driveway.

This is the profile of the unsub:

Man in his 60’s

Single

Celibate

Fat

Ugly

Stupid

Alcoholic
Blowhard

Misogynist

Lonely

Bored

Horny as hell

Coward

Today, propped in my driveway was a bunch of boxes alongside the mandatory styrofoam coffee cups. I parked and then looked at the boxes and noticed the moron LEFT HIS NAME AND ADDRESS on the delivery label!

Livid, I tossed the boxes in my car and drove down the street to his house and threw the boxes on his driveway. I turned around and drove home to phone the Sheriff’s office.

“Can you send one of the constables my way?” I asked. “The Mad Crapper bungled his litter! Now we know who he is.”

Ten minutes later, I heard a pounding on my front door. It was the local constable.

“Let me guess,” he said. “It’s the guy down the street!”

“How did you know?”

“I drove by his house and saw boxes and thought, hmmm, seems like Maura retaliated.”

We had a good laugh. But it isn’t a laughing matter when his litter affects a bunch of people and the taxpayers who have to hire crews to clean up.

The constable said he’ll take care of the matter and to tell the guy to knock it off. I’ll see tomorrow how successful that conversation was.

All this didn’t go for naught as the profile I created was right on target! Perhaps a new career beckons.